


Like Dust, I'll Rise

by queerhazeleyes



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Abortion, Aftercare, Control Issues, Cuddling & Snuggling, Everybody drinks lots of tea, F/M, Natasha knows what it's like to be unmade, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-14
Updated: 2012-11-14
Packaged: 2017-11-18 15:38:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/562651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queerhazeleyes/pseuds/queerhazeleyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha’s hands shook as she pushed her hair out of her face. She took two deep breaths and willed them still before she spoke. “Can you get me on the phone with the nearest abortion clinic, Jarvis?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Dust, I'll Rise

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to make a couple things clear before moving onto the story. First, I wrote this keeping in mind the backstory that has been alluded to regarding Natasha, where she was brainwashed by the Soviets. Therefore my Natasha has a lot of issues revolving around having/not having control over herself. I also struggled to balance the strength she has as a character and how I could allow her to be weak without compromising that strength. I *think* I got that, but if you disagree for whatever reason I would love to hear your thoughts. Lastly, this was part of my NaNoWriMo project and, aside from a few consultations with fellow writers as I was writing, this hasn't really been beta'd and so if you spot any mistakes, please let me know!

Natasha closed her eyes and counted to ten. She hadn’t wanted to believe, hadn’t even thought it possible. But she had missed two periods since the last night she’d spent with Elliot in London, and she’d felt queasy and achy for weeks. The last was the most worrisome - Natasha wasn’t sure she could remember the last time she had actually been ill. She opened her eyes and found the plastic stick on her bathroom counter.

_Positive_.

Her knees went out from under her. Natasha caught herself against the side of the bathtub on the way down and, trembling, sat with her back to it, legs extended. She buried her face in her hands, trying to breathe steadily. No. Nuh-uh. Not okay. This was not supposed to happen. Natasha was on birth control for a reason, had picked the method with the lowest failure rate barring sterilization. Her body was not supposed to do things that she did not instruct it to do. Not anymore. She refused to be pregnant. “Jarvis?” she called.

“Miss Romanoff? Do you require assistance?” The AI’s voice echoed slightly in the bathroom.

Natasha’s hands shook as she pushed her hair out of her face. She took two deep breaths and willed them still before she spoke. “Can you get me on the phone with the nearest abortion clinic, Jarvis?”

“Of course, Miss Romanoff. Anything else?”

_Turn back the clock?_ She thought. _Tell me I’m dreaming? No, that’s nonsense_. She crawled forward to snag the pregnancy test off the counter. Threw it in the trash. Stood. “Don’t tell the others.”

“Of course, Miss Romanoff.”

Natasha turned on the tap and splashed cool water over her face, ran damp fingers through her hair and across the nape of her neck. She examined herself in the mirror: face a little pale, eyes calm, hair loose. “Thank you.”

* * *

Four days later Natasha was alone in the Avenger’s Tower, curled up on the couch in her favorite sweats. She had the Disney version of Alice in Wonderland playing on Tony’s flat screen and a hot water bottle, starting to go cold, pressed against her abdomen. The pain wasn’t much worse than a typical period, but she had chosen not to take any painkillers. She wanted to feel this, her choice, all the way through. Dulling the experience would make it feel less real, in a way.

Of course, that would be when Clint would walk into the lounge, whistling and twirling one of his favorite knives. He stopped when he saw the movie and then Natasha.

“Hey,” he said. He put his knife away. “You okay?”

Natasha shifted on the couch so she could see him better. “Yeah, mostly.”

Clint nodded and moved towards the kitchen nook at the back of the room. It was mostly stocked with snacks and a few staples; the main kitchen was two floors up, but team mostly used this room for movie nights. “Make you some tea?” he offered, putting on the kettle.

“Chamomile?”

“You got it.” Clint pulled two mugs from the cupboard and rifled through Bruce’s tea collection. On-screen, Alice was arguing with a garden full of flowers. “Anything else I can get, long as I’m up?”

Nat nibbled her lip before offering her hot water bottle over the back of the couch. “Could you refill this for me?”

“No problem. Toss it here.” Clint hopped onto the counter and assumed a catcher’s pose. Natasha laughed, sat up for a better angle and lobbed it at him. He caught it against his chest with an exaggerated “Oof!” and rolled backwards to tumble gracefully to the floor.

“Still a circus boy at heart, aren’t you?” Natasha asked, still chuckling.

“Always,” he replied popping to his feet, grin on his face. She had more color in her face than she had when he arrived and he counted it as a victory. He emptied the water bottle, turned the tap on hot and waited for it to steam before filling it again. Rather than tossing it back he carried it back and handed it to Natasha over the back of the couch, perching there to watch the movie with her until the kettle whistled. When it did, he poured water over the teabags for himself and Nat and carried the mugs to the couch. “Your tea, milady.”

“Thanks.” She took a large red mug from him and set it aside to steep.

“C’mere,” he said, setting down his own tea and worming into the space between her and the arm rest. He spread his arms in invitation, and Natasha went into them.

* * *

Hours later, they had finished Alice in Wonderland and were on to Toy Story, Clint perched on the back of the couch for a better angle at which to braid Natasha’s hair. Outside the room, a rumble of feet and voices announced the arrival of the rest of the team moments before they burst into the lounge. Thor immediately spotted the pair on the couch and plopped himself in front of Natasha, who laughed before burying her hands in his hair and beginning to braid it.

“So, is my tower now home base for teen-girl-esque sleepover behavior?” Tony groused, only half-serious. He moved to lean on the back of the couch, next to Clint, and took in the scene. There were two mostly empty mugs of tea sitting on the coffee table and Natasha had a blanket tangled around her legs, no make-up on her face and a hot water bottle tucked against her belly, held in place by the waistband of her sweats and the hem of her tank top. _Ah_ , he thought, _one of those days_.

Bruce moved to sit before he noticed the mugs on the table. “More tea?” he asked, grabbing both cups and moving over to the kitchen. Clint made a vague noise Bruce took to mean “No” as the archer studied the hair in his hands. “Nat?” Bruce asked.

“Sure,” she said, finger-combing Thor’s long blonde hair. Steve went about making popcorn since it seemed they were settling in for an impromptu movie night.

“Chamomile all right?” Bruce asked. Nat was about to answer when Tony cut in, brow furrowed.

“You can’t be on your period right now,” he said to Natasha. The whole room froze, save Nat herself, who kept braiding Thor’s hair as though Tony hadn’t spoke.

“What?” Bruce asked.

“I did some thinking.” Tony continued to address Natasha despite her seeming inattention. “I assumed, given the tea and the hot water bottle and the Disney movie, but you can’t be. You and Pepper are consistently a week off from each other, and Pepper’s on hers. So you can’t be on yours.”

“You keep track of their menstrual cycles?” Clint asked, incredulous.

Tony held out his hands in a “What?” gesture. “Hey, when you live with one deadly woman and work with another, it pays to keep track of when they’re at their potential deadliest.” Clint shrugged at that. “So?”

Natasha slipped a hairband off her wrist and onto the tail of Thor’s braid and shifted her position. “I had an abortion.”

A bowl broke in the kitchen with a crash of glass. They all looked back in shock to see Bruce staring at Steve who was holding the remainder of their popcorn bowl. He was shaking. Slowly he turned around to stare at Natasha, who was peering nervously over the back of the couch. “Are you insane?” he asked, voice low and angry like they had never heard it before.

“Excuse me?” said Natasha.

“You heard me. What the _hell_ were you thinking?”

Natasha didn’t flinch at the shout. A flicker of hurt passed across her eyes before she shut it down. “I was thinking,” she said, voice level, “that no one gets to decide what happens to my body but me.”

“And you, what, didn’t bother to tell us? God, Nat, do you have a death wish?” Everyone stared as Steve’s voice continued to rise, though he stayed firmly away from Natasha herself. Steve was yelling. Steve never yelled. “How much did they charge you? Where did you even go? For heaven’s sake, you could have _died_!”

A lightbulb went off in Tony’s head. He stepped directly between Natasha and Steve. “Did no one tell you,” he said to Steve, then turned to the others, “Did no one tell him?” He turned back to Steve. “Did no one tell you about Roe V Wade?”

“About what?” Steve asked Tony, still furious, looking exasperated.

“It was a US Supreme Court case from the 70’s,” Bruce said quietly. He was farther from Steve than he had been when the conversation began, but closer to Natasha — and to the door. “It ruled that the national ban on abortion was unconstitutional.” He seemed to be coming to the same realization that Tony had. “Abortion is a safe, legal, regulated procedure now.”

Steve seemed to crumple, eyes widening. “It—it is?” He looked from Bruce to Tony to Clint, then finally Natasha. She nodded. He swallowed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know, I thought—”

“You thought I had some dangerous back-alley abortion,” she finished for him. It was Steve’s turn to nod, a guilty look on his face. “A lot of things are different now, Cap.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed. I just, I was afraid for you.”

The room relaxed incrementally, assured they wouldn’t have to deal with a super-soldier on a rampage. Tony took up one of his glass tablets and sat, sprawling, in one of the armchairs. Bruce made chamomile tea for himself, Natasha, and a cup for Steve. Steve himself continued to look like someone had run over his puppy. He sat on the edge of the couch near Nat.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “You’re right; your body is yours and so the only one who should make decisions about it is you. I understand that. I was angry because,” he stopped to sip his tea. “I thought you had risked your life, without consulting the team. That you didn’t trust us enough to find another way. Can you forgive me?”

Natasha observed him over her own steaming mug. Even knowing his reasons, his thoughts, the misinformation, his reaction still sat like an iron weight in her gut. He was so earnest though, blue eyes pleading with her like a scolded golden retriever puppy. “Sure, Cap. But first—” His ears practically perked up “—you make me some tomato soup and a grilled cheese sandwich.” 

* * *

It was later still, after soup and sandwiches for the whole team, after popcorn and tears and back massages, when the team finally went to bed. Thor was the first to wander vaguely off in the direction of his room, shortly followed by Tony and then a reluctant, still-guilty Steve. Clint went next with a lingering look to Natasha, almost asking for reassurance that she would be all right before he went off to seek Coulson and bed. Bruce stayed, puttering around the kitchen preparing a last cup of tea. Natasha wandered over to him and sat on the counter, legs crossed.

“Well?” she said. “Spit it out.”

Bruce looked up at her, surprised. After a second though, a wry grin crept onto his face. “You noticed.”

“Of course I did. Now, what’s on your mind?”

Bruce set his empty mug on the counter beside the stove, then put his back to it and faced Natasha. “How far along were you?”

Natasha didn’t frown or duck her head or fiddle with her sleeve. She suspected it would be something like that when she asked. “Eleven weeks.”

Bruce nodded as though his suspicions had just been confirmed. “And what kind of birth control were you using?”

She knew the good doctor probably had a point, and she appreciated his assumption that she had been using birth control at all. One of the protesters she had passed on her way into the clinic that morning had called her an “irresponsible slut” under his breath. “Implanon,” she said. “Long term, low maintenance, low failure rate.” She did allow herself a nose-wrinkle at the last one.

“That’s hormonal, right?” Bruce pulled the kettle from the burner right as it began to whistle and poured two cups, passing one to Natasha.

“Right,” she said, tilting her head at him. He suddenly had a sick look on his face. “Why?”

Bruce twisted the string of his tea bag around his finger. “You remember about two and a half months ago, that gas Doctor Doom hit the team with?” She nodded slowly, starting to see where he was going with this line of questioning. “Well, since it obviously didn’t achieve what Doom meant for it to - kill us, probably, or paralyze us, or make us attack each other - SHIELD decided that figuring out what was in it wasn’t a high priority. Took about a month to get around to it, and by then the effects had long since cleared everyone’s systems, and then I didn’t make the connection until today.”

“What, Doc?” she prompted, interrupting his rambling.

Bruce took a deep breath. “There were components in the gas that could have interfered with hormonal birth control,” he said, not looking her in the eye. “Did, apparently. I’m sorry.”

Ah. “Not your fault,” Natasha said, sipping her tea. “You didn’t know, and besides, a month down the road wouldn’t have done a thing.” She smiled at him. “At least I know I don’t have to change my birth control method.”

They drank their tea in silence. Finally, Bruce spoke again.

“Have you told the… well, he wouldn’t be the father, would he?” Bruce frowned, trying to think of the right word.

Natasha laughed softly. “No, I haven’t,” she said. “He and I, we’re not together or anything. He doesn’t know what I do, either. We just, sort of, hook up when we’re in the same city. Telling him would just complicate things.”

He drank more tea, very carefully not looking at her as he asked his next question. “Were you going to tell us? The team, I mean?”

She shrugged. “Yes. I’m out of the field for the next two weeks, for one. But the pregnancy wasn’t affecting my field work, so there was no call to inform anyone until after the procedure.” She caught his eye. “You’re my team, all of you. I trust you, as much as I trust anyone. This was just my business, and I didn’t need anyone treating me like a fragile pregnant flower or trying to second-guess my decision.”

He nodded, set down his mug, and stepped forward to wrap his arms around her waist. “You’re incredible,” he said. Natasha hesitated for half a second before returning the hug, relaxing into Bruce’s hold. “I know you’d probably curl up with Clint tonight,” he continued, “but he and Coulson are probably really naked right now, what with him being gone this last week. You could share with me, though.”

Natasha rested her cheek on top of Bruce’s head. “That would be nice,” she said. “Thank you.”

“Any time.”

They pulled apart and set their mugs in the sink before heading in the direction of Bruce’s bedroom.


End file.
